


liar

by marzipan (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fake Dating, Gen, evidently my kink is unflinching honesty, for once! lmao, without all the trappings of 'fake dating'...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 00:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18304457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/marzipan
Summary: For someone who doesn’t seem to want her at all, Sherlock Holmes sure is keen on dating her.





	liar

 

The blond nurse finishes wrapping her wrist, then looks at her so intently Janine wonders whether she can see though her concealer.

 

“Do you need help?” the nurse says quietly, casually, as she works. Mary, she thinks her name is.

 

Janine shrugs it off, literally.

 

“It _really_ isn’t a big deal,” she says, trying to reassure the woman. “I mean it isn’t serious.”

 

“You don’t have to protect him, you know,” the nurse says. She looks so earnest, and so willing to help.

 

Janine smiles at her, and hopes it comes off just as earnestly.

 

.

 

Janine doesn’t betray Charles Augustus Magnussen. It’s certainly not because she loves him, good God no.

 

But her time as his PA is finite; she’s got a plan, and she can already see the light at the end of the tunnel.

 

She’s well aware how she got into this mess, and how she’s going to get out.

 

Long story short: he’s not the first terrible boss she’s had. No, her last boss was an embezzling pig, who had stuck her with the account from which the funds were siphoned out from.

 

Magnussen had taken one look at her and said he had a job for her if she wanted, and then snapped up the entire company for a song. No one had been the wiser.

 

She should’ve known it was too good to be true. But she knows better now. She understands _how_ money is power.

 

.

 

“Sorry, sorry, boss is an absolute arse, had to take care of these files for a client even though it’s _technically_ my day off,” Janine says, sliding into seat across from Mary. They’re at a cafe, meeting for brunch - and well on their way to becoming great friends.

 

“Hm,” Mary sounds in agreement, raising her eyebrows as she spears a small roasted potato, “well I don’t envy you that.”

 

Mary had given her her card after the checkup, a phone number on the back. Janine ended up calling in the midst of a spectacular headache, completely unrelated question.

 

Then they’d bumped into each other on a coffee run.

 

One thing led to another, and, well,

 

“Are you seeing anyone?” Mary asks. She’d just told Janine all about the doctor she’d started dating, showed her photos on her phone too.

 

“Oh God, nothing serious,” Janine says. She orders another mimosa. “I don’t know where I’d find the time - no really, though, I don’t know where I’d find the _man_ , I’d find the time if I could find someone worth seeing, you know what I mean?”

 

Mary’s laughing, because she does.

 

Complaining about men is entertaining, and stock and trade of brunch gossip, but the conversation takes a turn toward soul searching, during which she learns Mary’s good samaritan streak wasn’t just a passing moment the day they first met.

 

“I know what that feels like. I had to get my life together before I could really even understand what it means to be with someone. Hell, I spent most of my 20s doing that,” Mary says.

 

“Backpacked across the continent, something like that?” Janine says.

 

Mary laughs.

 

“Yeah. Lots of traveling, _lots,”_ she says. “Then I became a nurse and traveled some more, volunteering, working posts in third world countries, destabilized nations, any opportunity to go where I could be needed, you know?”

 

Janine quite admires that.

 

.

 

Mary calls her, voice full of excitement, some months after that. The next time Janine sees her, there is one big, distinct difference.

 

“He _proposed!”_ Janine says, taking in the ring on her finger.

 

Mary’s smile is incandescent. She nods and shows off the engagement ring, then gets an intrigued, faraway look for a moment as she toys with the ring.

 

“You know, funny thing is, the proposal wasn’t even the biggest event of the night?” Mary says.

 

“Oh?” Janine’s reply is full of suggestion, Mary gives her a dramatic look, shaking her head.

 

“Nothing you could imagine, not in a hundred years,” she says with dark humor.

 

“What then?”

 

“A friend he thought he had been grieving popped back up, out of the blue,” Mary says. “Just like that. Imagine - someone you mourned, thought you laid to rest, suddenly appeared all over again. Not dead! I can’t even imagine…”

 

“Anyway! That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Mary says, nudging the plates and glasses aside on the table to take Janine’s hands.

 

“Janine.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I have something to ask you.”

 

“Are we eloping?”

 

“Will you be my maid of honor?”

 

Janine squeezes Mary’s hands back. They’ve only known each other for, what, half a year? But there’s something about this friendly, solitary woman she feels a kinship with.

 

“Yes, of _course_ I will.”

 

.

 

Mary tries on dresses and moans about being too jaded to feel the need to fit into a certain size, and Janine tells her how gorgeous she looks in each and every one.

 

“Do you really not need my help with anything else?” Janine asks. “That _is_ what people usually appoint a maid of honor for. Picking out napkins, flowers, bridesmaid dresses that make me look amazing even to the detriment to the rest of the minor wedding party.”

 

Mary gives her a look through the mirror.

 

“Sherlock’s sort of...taken it upon himself to organizing the wedding,” Mary says. “Going a bit stir-crazy with it, in fact. Not that it doesn’t have its benefits, I suppose, he _is_ tremendously organized about it.”

 

“Ah, the famous Sherlock Holmes. When do I get to meet him?” Janine asks.

 

“Hopefully at the rehearsal,” Mary says. “So, no, all I need for you to do is plan me a _wicked_ hen do.”

 

 _“That_ I can manage.”

 

.

 

Sherlock Holmes ends up missing the rehearsal dinner entirely (“Are you seriously asking me to practice _eating,_ John?” John’s done his impression of his best man at least forty times now), so it’s not until the actual day of the wedding that Janine has the honor of meeting him in person.

 

“The famous Mr. Holmes! I’m very pleased to meet you. But no sex, okay?” Janine jokes. He startles, quite visibly, like a little robot that can’t quite process your request.

 

“Um, sorry?”

 

“You don’t have to look so scared. I’m only messing,” Janine says with a laugh. “Bridesmaid, best man ... It’s a bit traditional.”

 

She punches his arm a bit for good measure, which actually only serves to confuse him more.

 

“Is it?” he asks.

 

“But not obligatory!” God, was there ever a joke that landed more poorly? This man.

 

But then Sherlock points out one of the other wedding guests, and starts rattling off all sorts of information from a distance.

 

“If that’s the sort of thing you’re looking for - the man over there in blue is your best bet. Recently divorced doctor with a ginger cat, a barn conversion, and a history of erectile dysfunction,” Sherlock says. Then he squints - she does too.

 

“Reviewing that information, possibly not your best bet,” he says, looking a little puzzled. Like he’s still catching up to his own brain. Huh.

 

“Yeah, maybe not,” Janine agrees.

 

“Sorry – there was one more deduction there than I was expecting,” Sherlock says, earnest.

 

He seems fun.

 

Janine loops her arm through his and gives him a smile.

 

“Mr. Holmes,” she says. “You’re going to be incredibly useful.”

 

He tries to be, too. Sherlock points people out to her the entire reception, feeding her stats and tidbits about their personal lives, the sort of things they’d never put on a dating profile.

 

“Janine! What about this one? Acceptably hot?” he asks.

 

It’s a bit cute. Kind of reminds her of a puppy. A curly little one, with a short alert tail.

 

The second surprise comes when he pulls her aside before the dance.

 

“Why do we have to rehearse?” she asks. She didn’t quite expect this from someone who purposely missed the rehearsal dinner.

 

He leans in, very seriously.

 

“Because we are about to dance together in public, and your skills are appalling!”

 

She laughs. “Well you’re a good teacher.”

 

And then he twirls!

 

Janine looks on with a grin. Sherlock Holmes isn’t quite what people think he is, after all.

 

But they never do get that dance - she catches a glimpse of him on the dancefloor later. He looks utterly lost, and then he slips out, alone.

 

.

 

Suffice to say, Janine is surprised when he calls barely a few weeks later.

 

Mary and John are away on their honeymoon, and she surmises he’s lonely. Sherlock does not seem good at making friends, and she can’t imagine he has many. It wouldn’t have been strange if he’d asked her out dancing, or just to hang out. They’re only human, after all.

 

Instead he sounds...fake, all nervous and boyish. So fake. He asks her out to coffee.

 

Janine agrees anyway. What? She has eyes.

 

.

 

After the coffees they do lunches, and then after a few lunches, they do dinners. They do galleries and drinks and theater and movies, and then a _ferris wheel_ and it’s all frightfully cliche, as if he’s borrowed a Hollywood script.

 

Janine is starting to wonder when he’s going to drop the ruse, but the moment doesn’t come.

 

In fact, it _escalates._

 

“Janine, um. I wanted to ask you - I’d like it a lot if you’d meet my parents,” Sherlock says one night, after he’s made her a lovely pasta meal in her own kitchen.

 

What.

 

She swallows her wine. He gives her that silly smile.

 

“Your parents!” Janine laughs. Is this what it’s been all about? He gets all bashful, twirling his noodles around with his fork.

 

“I’ve told them all about you - all good things of course, so they’re _dying_ to meet you, they’re dying to meet,” he takes her hand for this part, “the woman who’s so dear to my heart.”

 

It’s a big step.

 

They haven’t even had sex.

 

She knows he’s not religious, so it’s not that. He clearly has no qualms about nudity either, uncaring whether one or both of them struts around the flat in nothing but pants, or sheets. Probably wouldn’t even bat an eye if it were not even that.

 

So she narrows her eyes, but says yes.

 

“What are you up to, Sherlock Holmes?”

 

He just kisses her, and she lets him. He’s a quick learner.

 

I’ll get to the bottom of this, Sherlock Holmes, Janine thinks anyway. Who knows, perhaps his meeting his mother will shed some light.

 

.

 

Sherlock, as she knows from their meeting at the wedding, isn’t touchy-feely.

 

So Janine amps up the physical contact, expecting maybe a puzzled frown or two as he’s thrown of-guard.

 

Ohh, no. Sherlock is apparently a consummate actor. Soon she is hanging off his arm, taking his hand, hoping this will push him to the point of confession.

 

And it doesn’t work. He doesn’t even bat an eye. If anything, he takes it as a challenge, as a competition, trying to out-schmoop her at every turn.

 

He laughs and calls her “darling,” practically permanently embeds his arm around her waist, and makes a big show of kissing the back of her hand whenever she takes his.

 

So Janine returns his overly sweet smile, slowly reels him in for a kiss, and then brushes his curls back with a finger.

 

“I had a _lovely_ time, Sherl,” she says at the door. He doesn’t balk at the pet name either.

 

Basically overnight, they’ve turned into that clingy, cloying couple that no one likes.

 

“Oh, come here, my dear girl!”

 

And Mummy Holmes welcomes Janine with open arms.

 

“Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” Janine says genuinely. Sherlock wouldn’t use his own _parents_ as props in this little farce of his, would he? “Sherlock’s barely told me anything, so you’ll have to fill in the gaps.”

 

Janine helps in the kitchen, they have a nice family dinner - the four of them, Sherlock, her, Mummy and Daddy - and then afterwards Mummy breaks out the family albums.

 

“Ohhhh is this Sherl?” Janine says, pointing at one of the photos. “A regular little rascal, isn’t he?”

 

Mummy regales her with stories and lets out a peal of laughter, pulling out a photo of young Sherlock looking like a swamp monster.

 

“No matter what we did, or where we went, he had a knack for getting as _dirty_ as possible!” Mummy says, resigned.

 

"Sherl didn’t tell me he had siblings!” Janine says with a gasp. There is an adorable old photo of a round looking boy giving Sherlock a massive hug.

 

“He hasn’t told you about Mike?” Mummy gives Sherlock a reprimanding look, which he staunchly ignores.

 

“No he hasn’t!”

 

.

 

In the silence of the train ride back, Janine stares at him. He doesn’t notice, or, well, doesn’t acknowledge, busy scrolling on his phone.

 

Come on! She thinks. The ruse is up! Say something.

 

As if compelled by her thoughts, he looks up - and gives him one of those play-acting sweet boyfriend smiles. She wants to throw something at him. Instead she smiles back, and laces their fingers together.

 

The funny thing is, she wouldn’t much mind, if she were in on it too.

 

Jesus.

 

They really are more alike than she’d like to admit, aren’t they?

 

.

 

It occurs to Janine he's actually a _very_ good boyfriend. Really, on paper, a girl could barely have any complaints, could they?

 

He’s wonderfully attentive - but not the way Sherlock Holmes is attentive - he tells her how much likes her haircut, brings her to a French restaurant she mentioned wanting to try offhand, and surprises her with flowers she told him were her favorite. He sweeps her off her feet, _literally,_ to avoid a puddle as he walked her home on a drizzly Sunday once.

 

He saves the brazen, cocksure rapid-fire deductions for cases, and contrary to everything she’s read about him as a detective, takes her to a murder-disguised-as-a-suicide on a lunch break which he solves in 15 minutes in a blatant effort to charm her.

 

He does do the occasional odd thing, like lying on his couch for hours straight, hands pressed together. She’d asked if it was some lazy form of meditation, and he’d said he was “working.”

 

Janine sits on his bed, mentally tallying a pros and cons list and, curious, leans over to do a bit of digging.

 

That’s when she finds the stack of romantic comedy DVDs under his bed.

 

She gasps, then shoves her fist against her mouth to stifle her hysterical laughter. So she wasn’t wrong about the Hollywood scripts - though he just as likely had left these here for her to find. A nod to their little joke then?

 

She’s not convinced there isn’t something bigger at play here. He _knows_ she knows something’s up - and she thinks he knows _she_ knows that _he_ knows, yet he refuses to bring it up.

 

That they haven’t had sex is only one small piece of the puzzle.

 

Janine doesn't think this weirdness is because he’s gay, she’s dated a gay guy before, briefly, in uni, and even they’d had sex. No he’s literally just not interested in her at all, not one iota, not at all. Which is such a shame, because honestly? They have _fun._

 

.

 

She meets “Mike” in Sherlock’s flat.

 

He’s a tall, thin man with an honest-to-God _pocket watch_ who wrinkles his nose in distaste as Sherlock introduces her.

 

“Brother dear, this is Janine, the most beautiful woman to have ever entered my life,” Sherlock says with a flourish. “And Janine, this is my brother, Mike.”

 

“Mycroft Holmes,” he amends, looking completely puzzled at her presence.

 

Oh yeah, she remembers him now. He’d met her before, too, at a meeting in Mr. Magnussen’s office. Called her Jeanette.

 

She gives him a great big smile.

 

“Nice to meet you, Mike,” Janine says, as she takes a seat on Sherlock’s lap and watches them both sputter.

 

He doesn’t stay long, and the brothers bicker the entire time.

 

When Mycroft leaves, Janine rolls her eyes and looks at Sherlock.

 

“He hates me,” she says.

 

“No, nonsense, he _loved_ you!”

 

Janine gives Sherlock a _look,_ because that really was going too far. And in a rare moment of honesty Sherlock lets out a bark of laughter that ends in a sort of decrescendo of relief.

 

“Yeah probably,” he says once he catches his breath. “Which reflects highly on you, because Mike’s a git anyway.”

 

She thinks maybe they’ll turn a corner after all.

 

.

 

“Do you want to take a bath together?” Sherlock asks.

 

Janine’s pretty sure the first time he asked _(offered,_ more like; he’d invited himself to her bathtub, much nicer than the one at 221B and called out ‘in here!’ when she went looking for him) her eyebrows climbed up to her hairline.

 

Anyway, it wasn’t what she expected. He’d put a luxurious hair mask into his curls, and settled in for a nice soak.

 

Janine shrugs off her bathrobe and steps in the water - smelling faintly of citrus blossom this time.

 

“D’you want one for your face too?”

 

He gives her a curious look - Janine holds out a jar - then nods.

 

They end up spreading rare earth mud masks on each other’s faces and giggling through it all.

 

Sherlock takes the jar from her hand.

 

“Oh, where’d you get this?” he asks.

 

“Parisian brand,” she says.

 

“Hmmmm,” he replies thoughtfully, reading the label.

 

.

 

Sherl's not averse to cuddling, when the mood strikes.

 

Sometimes he's just on this edge of sleepy and he'll curl into the crook of her arm like the oversized cat her flatmate had. 

 

"What would you do if you weren't a detective?" Janine asks.

 

"Consulting detective," he corrects, because even half-asleep he's a stickler.

 

"Yep," Janine says.

 

He's quiet for a moment and she thinks he's dozed.

 

"When I retire," he says when she peeks down to check he's still awake, "I want a cottage in the country."

 

"Oh you'll depart from your beloved London, will you?"

 

"A fancy cottage, mind you," he sniffs. "With a view."

 

"And what will you be doing out in the country, Sherlock Holmes?"

 

"Most murders happen in the country, I'll have you know."

 

"Do they, now."

 

"No. Most that do are grisly though. But hardly ever  _interesting."_

 

"Mm-hm."

 

"I intend to keep bees."

 

He expects her to laugh, but she's quiet. Janine knows better than to think this retirement plan includes her in anyway. 

 

"Sherlock Holmes, beekeeper extraordinaire," she muses. "I can see it."

 

.

 

She catches him looking at the little scar under her eye after they wash off the mud. She wonders if it’s the first time - it’s barely visible to begin with, and usually covered with makeup.

 

“Your boss, what’s he like?” he asks. Is that what he’s after?

 

“The usual, completely unreasonable billionaire, keeps me long hours, but I have great benefits.”

 

Sherlock doesn’t reveal more than that - Janine’s disappointed.

 

.

 

John Watson visits one day after she’s stayed over - _without_ Sherlock, no less, he still has to explain that one - and it sounds like the two haven’t seen each other for a while. She doesn’t have to be a detective to know that - Sherlock’s been spending ridiculous amounts of time with her, and what time he doesn’t he spends “working.”

 

They don’t _fight,_ per se, but it’s just as childish as his interactions with Mike.

 

“Okay, you two bad boys, behave yourselves,” Janine says, plopping down on the armchair curled around Sherlock. She’s gotten used to his space, cluttered as the flat is. “And you, Sherl, you’re gonna have to tell me where you were last night”

 

“Working,” Sherlock says.

 

“Working.” Janine scoffs. He’d said that last time she came by and he’d blown up a blender too. And caught him telling _Mike_ that when asked where he was - he was on a date, with _her._ “Of course. I’m the only one who really knows what you’re like, remember?”

 

“Don’t you go letting on,” he says softly. Then he runs his finger down her nose, and they have a little moment. That answers one thing: John doesn’t know more than she does either.

 

“I might just, actually,” Janine replies softly. Something in Sherlock’s eyes is a plea.

 

Janine turns to John.

 

“I haven’t told Mary about this,” she explains. Hasn’t told many people, really, whereas Sherlock’s introduced him to all his family already, another glaringly obvious odd fact of their relationship that’s gone unquestioned. “I kind of wanted to surprise her.”

 

“Yeah, you probably will,” John says. Oh, let’s see him try to get out of this one.

 

“But we should have you two over for dinner really soon!” She’s a _little_ sorry, but she’s on a roll.

 

“Yeah!” Sherlock says, meeting her tit for tat. 

 

“My place, though – not the scuzz-dump!” Janine says, punching Sherlock lightly on the shoulder. They laugh. She rather thinks she deserves a BAFTA.

 

“Great, yeah! Dinner! Yeah.” John sounds just as puzzled as they could hope for.

 

Sherlock shows her out, but not before they show off with another kiss.

 

.

 

Charles Augustus Magnussen seems like the obvious answer.

 

He _has_ to be what Sherlock is here for, right?

 

But he never asks about her boss, or her work at all, much, except that one time he rifled through her purse.

 

It is a complete _showstopper_ when he pops by the office one evening, and breaks out the ring.

 

“Oh my God!” she gasps - she can’t help it. God now she wished the cameras were higher resolution; she wanted to get a better look at that ring. God, _that_ was what they stopped by his parents’ for! Mummy had pressed something into his hand, patting it, seeming a bit giddy as she bid them goodbye. God, they were going to hate her, weren’t they? How was that fair?

 

She buzzes him up, and fans herself. Now she had to find a way to let him down easy. Or no, perhaps she should just rip into him? Maybe it was worth hearing him out first - one last chance to be honest.

 

But Janine is out before she’s figured out what exactly she’s going to say when she next laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes.

 

.

 

Next time she sees him he’s in the hospital, of all places. A gunshot wound, of all things.

 

Janine feels...not used, but robbed. He had to have known how much she hated Magnussen; he was too smart not to have seen it - they both knew he was working a way to get to him the entire time they were together.

 

He could have said.

 

She could have helped.

 

She would've been more than willing, more than happy to.

 

Janine has a good idea of the gist of what’s happened that night and knows it'll do her no good to go digging into what she missed, digging up the past at this point.

 

No, there are other ways to vent such frustrations.

 

So she takes a page out of Sherlock’s book - and lies. To friends, to the press. They pay a good sum for the story too, and now she’s absolutely free to leave her job. Money is power, after all.

 

He’s asleep when she arrives, looking every bit the angel she knows he can be. She strokes his hair, and seeing his eyelashes flutter, stands back and waits.

 

“I’m buying a cottage,” she says when he wakes, sitting on the edge of the foot of his bed. She shows him the newspapers; he’ll get a kick out of that.

 

“I made a lot of money out of you, mister,” she tells him. It’s over, after all. “Nothing hits the spot like revenge for profits.”

 

He reads them blearily.

 

“You didn’t give these stories to Magnussen, did you?” How many drugs was he _on?_

 

“God, no – one of his rivals,” she says. “He was spittin’!”

 

That gets a smile out of him, a real one too. She can’t help it:

 

“Sherlock Holmes, you are a back-stabbing, heartless, manipulative bastard.”

 

“And you – as it turns out – are a grasping, opportunistic, publicity-hungry tabloid whore,” he replies levelly.

 

It’s almost a relief to hear.

 

“So we’re good, then!”

 

“Yeah, of course.” Sherlock smiles. “Where’s the cottage?”

 

“Sussex Downs.”

 

“Hmm, nice.”

 

“It’s gorgeous,” she says, pushing a little further. “There’s beehives, but I’m getting rid of those.”

 

Sherlock gasps, wounded.

 

“Aw, hurts, does it? Probably wanna restart your morphine. I might have fiddled with the taps.” She gives him a cheery smile.

 

“How much more revenge are you gonna _need?”_ he says, sucking in air.

 

“Just the occasional top-up,” Janine says. She looks around the room, and worries about a relapse. She’s caught him taking out his drugs and putting them back more than once. Making deals for a supply he hasn’t actually dug into. Just one more reason he benefited from her constant company. She hopes John, or even Mike, is there for him now. God knows she won’t be.

 

“Dream come true for you, this place. They actually attach the drugs to you!”

 

“Not good for working.”

 

“You won’t be working for a while, Sherl,” she says softly.

 

No response. Now’s as good a time as ever.

 

“You lied to me. You lied and lied.”

 

“I exploited the fact of our connection,” he says.

 

She laughs. “When?!”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Janine gives him a look.

 

“Just once would have been nice.” Not like she was seeing anyone else, not for weeks!

 

“Oh.” He doesn’t look like he expected _this_ talk. “I was waiting until we got married.”

 

“That was never gonna happen!” She’s glad they can still joke, but a relationship can’t be built on all jokes.

 

“Just one thing,” she adds. “You shouldn’t have lied to me. I know what kind of man you are ... but we could have been friends.”

 

He does look a little bit sorry at that, so she lets him be.

 

“We cool?”

 

“Cool.”

 

.

 

She saves his number, but she doesn’t use it. He hasn’t bothered keeping in touch either, and it’s not like she’s particularly hung up on him.

 

Still, especially now that she’s past any grievances - well it was fun while it lasted.

 

Janine steps back to get a better crop on her lovely new cottage, and snaps a photo on her phone. The renovation’s practically complete, and you can still see the beehives she’s yet to remove in the picture.

 

She fires off a text:

 

_Look what my revenge money got me._

 

She wonders if he’ll be scathing, now that the masks are off.

 

_Those shutters? Really?_

 

 

She can't hold back her wicked grin as she sends her a picture of the cottage in the back - with the beehives in full view.

 

 _No_. he texts back.

 

 _They've got to go_ , Janine texts back, shaking her head in mock contrition.

 

_Don't you dare._

 

_I'm living the dream, Sherlock Holmes._

**Author's Note:**

> 8/12: Edited/added a bit


End file.
